Epic Fic Is Epic
by cuddyclothes
Summary: Wilson discovers he is in love with House. Crackiness and about ten different genres ensues. No disclaimers, because I own them and I'm going to make a buttload of cash with this. Warnings for language, slash, and improper use of scotch tape. Pls. R&R!


Wilson let himself into House's apartment, using his spare key, carrying a Tupperware container of macadamia nut pancakes. _ Why am I here?_ he asked himself, startled at the appearance of House's living room. _I was at the bar having a few drinks, then a guy offered me some blow--as in cocaine--and now I find myself at my best friend's apartment instead of at home--__  
_  
The drunken, stoned oncologist staggered into the living room and carefully placed the Tupperware on the coffee table.

"Wilson? Is that you?" came the diagnostician's voice from the bathroom. The door opened and House appeared, fresh from the shower, nothing but a towel around his waist. Or maybe it was a pair of boxers. Or briefs. Whatever he had on, Wilson saw his friend with new eyes.

House was...House was...GORGEOUS. At that moment, Wilson knew he had been madly in love and lust with Gregory House for almost twenty years without ever knowing it, no matter how many wet dreams he'd had about his best friend. The older man limped down the hall, and stared at _his _best friend. "Jimmy...are you okay?"

Wilson silenced him by crashing their mouths together, which hurt his teeth, and grabbing House's head--the one on the end of his neck, that is. Beard stubble burned his cheeks, but House was kissing back, and how glorious was it that House had known all of this time and was merely waiting for Wilson to make his move? Suddenly House shoved Wilson back.

"You'll leave me," his voice cracking. "You said we weren't friends anymore."

"House, that was _last _season!"

"Oh, right, I have to find another reason for angst. Um...gimme a minute...I'm convinced deep down that I'm _worthless _and you'll only fuck me and dump me!"

"It could happen," Wilson admitted, and crashed his mouth against House's again. The younger man felt the older man's cock straining against whatever he was wearing down there. His pants were tenting.

Blue eyes gazed into brown.

Wilson could barely bring himself to say with his mouth, "But--but--I'm afraid, House. I've never been able to sustain a relationship after sex! My dick leads me around by the nose!"

Azure orbs gazed into chocolate brown circles.

A tear slid down House's face. "Jimmy, I understand!" He crashed his mouth into Wilson's. "Shit, that HURT!" House spat out a tooth.

"Greg, I--I don't know what to say."

Cerulean blue stared into strabismus.

Suddenly Wilson whipped off his belt and cracked House hard across the face with it. "You **BASTARD**!" Wilson screamed, his face contorted with rage. "You're pretending I'm CUDDY!"

"No, no, J--Jimmy, p--lease--"

It took less that a minute for Wilson to find a piece of rope/six or seven silk ties/some telephone cord/scotch tape, and bind House's arms together behind his back. House shook his head back and forth, now sobbing openly.

"Please'--" begged the man with the limp.

"You try to leave me and you will then know _**TRUE PAIN**__**!"**_ screamed the man without the limp.

Time seemed to stop, and then Wilson slapped the belt across House's shoulders.

Suddenly the door flew open and there was a click click click of stiletto heels.

"Wilson, what are you _doing_?" yelled Foreman. House noticed that Foreman's shoes matched his tie. Niiice.

Foreman shrugged. "As if I give a shit. Later, guys, I've got a tranny bar to hit." The door shut, leaving the master gazing at the slave.

The door flew open again, and there was again the click of stiletto heels.

"Wilson...I saw you...coming here and I...wasn't sure it was going to be...safe...for Greg..." Cuddy said.

"Why are you talking like that?" asked the oncologist with brown eyes, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Because...it adds dramatic tension...and it...makes it all sound...dreamlike. Or really...stoned. Take...your...pick." _Was this going to be the time that Wilson...?__  
_  
"Da-da," said toddler House, reaching up to Wilson. The man-who-was-now-older picked up the adorable toddler, and fingered his curls.

"Don't worry, Greggy, you're safe now," Wilson crooned.

"Cud-dy?"

"The bad lady is gone, Greggy-weggy. I'm going to raise you the right way so you won't have to use drugs and be unhappy any more. Greggy has a daddy." Wilson had never been so happy in his life.

Greggy threw up on Wilson, who flew into a rage and tossed the toddler on to the leather sofa. "You-you **BASTARD**! That was a Christian Dior silk tie!"

"Wal-mart?"

Suddenly House was an adult again. Despite the puke on his tie, James was so aroused he leapt atop Greg, and again their mouths crashed together. Both of their faces were getting badly bruised, but both men were so consumed with love and kittens and rainbows coming out of their dicks they didn't care.  
House abruptly pushed Wilson away.

"Don't!" 

"House--what-"

The once-again-older doctor curled his long body into a tiny ball, sobbing and shaking. "No--don't--I promise--"

The younger doctor knelt beside him. "House--House--it's me, James. You're safe."

Azure eyes with beige bags under them gazed at him uncomprehendingly. "I'll be good—"

"Oh, crap, you were abused as a child. ** AGAIN.** Doesn't this trope ever get _OLD_?"

"No," the man with less hair said to the man with more hair (most of the time, anyway, although sometimes Wilson cut it really short and it looked like shit, and for a while House had a buzz cut and a beard and looked like Grizzly Adams). "I'm symbolizing the inner torment of the writer, and their subconscious wish to punish a powerful sexual/father figure and break him, and you're symbolizing the writer's inner rage." House could barely gasp out the exposition.

"What about when I'm suicidal? Are we gonna have to do **THAT **one again?"

"Yes, because you're portraying the writer's inner despair and being punished for being perceived as soft and weak at the same time!" House was openly bawling now, and Wilson joined him, both of them overcome by the overwhelming neuroses of their writers.

"But--but--I'm so_ tired _of almost dying!" Wilson yelped.

"Look who's talking!" House wailed. "They even do it to me on the damn _show_!"

Again there was the click click click of stilletos.

"James...Greg...could you both...stop crying...the...neighbors are complaining," said Cuddy breathily, or in a breathy whisper, or some way of talking that meant more air than sound came out.

The oncologist shrugged, looking at the diagnostician.

"Okay, let's fuck."

Instantly they were naked and House was holding a tube of lube. And then he shoved his dick up Wilson's ass.

And God saw it, and pronounced it good. And then He came.


End file.
